The Westwoods AKA Namika
by Bullshit-Smiles
Summary: Namika Westwood is a rich, talented, little girl. Her father is the head of the asylum.. When Namika turns 13, her father goes insane, but he sends Namika to the asylum instead..


**Author's Note:** Yes, the story AND the characters are all mine, if you would like to save my story, copy it, or post it on another website then I kindly ask you to inform me first and to say where you got it from. I would really appreciate reviews, since this is the first time I've posted anything online and all.. Would really like to know what others think of my writings. Hrm, yeah, so.. That's it, enjoy the story.. / Shari

She was perched at the edge osf her piano-seat, her fingers soaring elegantly over the keys. The music echoing off of her ruby-colored walls that were intertwined with gold. Her head was bent over, sooty-black hair cascaded in loose curls down her back, a few strands of it spilling daintily over her mysterious honey-shaded eyes, which were closed at the moment. The girl couldn't be more than 9 years old, but the harmony of the piano carried the expertise of one who had decades of practice, of one who had mastered the art. The melody had a distressed air to it, one that any onlooker could confirm as a sign of depression or a bitter cry for help, but that the girl's very own parents were oblivious to see.

The girl playing so skillfully glanced up for only a moment to see the snow melting away into **slush** through the window. In that moment, she caught her own reflection in the glass. Her molten-amber eyes narrowed as she studied her hollow cheekbones; one which had a freckle at it's dimple, her full bottom lip and slimmer upper lip, and her black lashes that were full and curled. A well-shaped eyebrow hiked as she shut her eyes again and **pouted** her lips as the number continued.

Her canopy bed was pressed against the wall; transparent, crimson curtains hanging from each side of it, completed with a scarlet blanket made of silk and down-pillows with golden coverings. In front of the bed was a wall made of mirrors, which slid open to unveil a closet full of thousands of pieces of clothing, all of which were brand-made, **except** he set of uniforms for her assorted classes. Beside the black Grand Piano was a desk, full of the young girl's artwork and assignments. On the other side of the room were two doors, one leading to her own bathroom which had a door that led to her own personal bastu. The other door leading to the hallway, which would lead you to a great number of places in the three story mansion. At the other door stood a woman, a woman who hadn't been there a few minutes earlier, a woman who was surfacely happy, but whom had haunted, brown eyes, packed with so much eyeliner and make-up that you could barely make out the shape it was to begin with. She was leering at the player of the piano, and for a moment a look of hatred flashed over her eyes, but it could easily have been a figment of the imagination.

A tapping at the door was all it took for Namika Westwood to abruptly freeze, her eyes flying open. She slowly turned her head, if a needle were to drop, you would most probably hear it.

Namika stared at the woman standing in the doorway, "Yes, mother?" she insinuated.

A minute passed by before the mother replied, "Mr. Chin has been looking for you, your lesson began at 2 pm.. It is now **approximately** 2.40.. Do you realize that time is money? Get dressed for your Tae Kwon Do class before your father finds out about this." Even across the room could Namika smell the scent of varnish, deriving from her mother's mouth.

"Alright, mother. I'll be on my way in a moment," Namika promised as she slid off her seat. She shifted open the mirror and picked out the white Tae Kwon Do uniform, pulling on her trousers and V-neck jacket. She fastened the belt and strolled barefoot out of her room while she untidily put her hair up in a bun, she continued down the hallway, past the kitchen, and into the familiar gym where her teacher awaited her, with a mock-pleasant smile **plastered** to his face.

Namika studied the accustomed room with it's high beam, floor-to-ceiling windows, wooden floors, and bambooed walls. There were assorted excersize equipment including an extravagant, indoor pool through the door at the end of the room. Finally she settled her eyes upon the dark-haired teacher with squinted eyes, he stood a certain 6'2'' and was lean yet muscular. She made her way towards him and stopped but a few inches from the large, square mat made of plastic and foam.

"I'm glad you decided to show up, Namika. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about our daily lessons. Had you other plans, you could have easily informed me.." Mr. Chin trailed off with question in his tone of voice, which was coated with a Korean-dialect.

"I didn't," Namika answered simply. "I was merely practicing a verse, the number was beginning to impair." She tightened the bun in her hair and stepped discalced onto the mat.

"Ah, I've heard that you are a talented piano player. So, you believe that playing the piano is more important than learning the art of defending one's self?" An annoyed tone was beginning to edge into his voice, but he began stretching, and Namika followed his movements with ease.

"Of course not, I merely believe that I needed to practice until it became perfect," the child answered calmly, with a layer of amusement under her tranquility. She spread herself out onto the mat and began lifting up her chest, mock move of the Cobra.

Frustrated, the young, Korean teacher decided not to question his pupil any further. Instead he decided to begin the lesson, and so they did. Namika picked herself up off of the floor, and after a series of kicks, blocks, punches, and smashes, the hour of their lesson was tardily over.

Following the lesson, Namika bowed and bade Mr. Chin goodbye, then she hurried off to her room to steam in the bastu, then to take a shower afterwards.

Her bathroom, like the rest of the house, was indeed luxurious and spacious, with it's slanted rooftop, high windows, carpeted floors, and rose-stained walls. There was an electronic fireplace in the corner made of marble, a large, porcelain hot tub was set five feet in front of it. The shower, which was on the other side of the room, had a wall on two of it's sides and half a wall on the third side, behind the third wall was the door leading to the bastu. On the fourth side of the shower was a sliding, glass door, inside the shower was a granite seat built into the wall and, of course, the actual shower. One was attached the the wall, the other could you take off and use in your hands. The third wall of the bathroom was countered from one side of the wall to the other, a sink on three of the counters, mirrors all across the wall and long windows on top of them.

Namika looked at the **large**, blood-red clock hanging on the wall above her desk, the ochroid hands reading 4.32 PM. That left loosely an hour until dinner. Normally Namika had Math at this time, but her Math teacher had mysteriously caught food poisoning and it would take time for her father to replace her. _Pity,_ Namika thought to herself. _Right when I was actually beginning to learn something. _She smirked and noticed the maid standing at the doorway, _Funny how no one ever knocks, they merely stand at the doorway and stare._

Nevertheless, she smiled sweetly at Ms. Soloman and informed her that there were dirty clothes in the bathroom that needed to be washed, that her bed needed making, and that she had accidentally **spillt** water in the bastu and that it needed to be mopped. Ms. Solomon there after curtsied and hurried to accomplish the tasks she had just been put to.

Ms. Solomon was a British woman of no more than 26 years old, her golden hair was put up in a French braid, and her sky blue eyes had an exhausted look to them, she never wore make-up, or at least Namika had never seen her with it. Patty, which was Ms. Solomon's first name, stood fairly tall and had a lithe build, she originally had planned on becoming a model, but as soon as numerous agencies turned her down she lost her self-confidence and became a broken maid, one who wore a black dress that fell loosely to her knees, a white apron that showed off her tiny waist, and thigh-high nylons, she tended to walk around with a white headband as well.

She cast a disgusted look at the maid, _How could anyone choose to have a job like that? People should go directly and study to have a job like my dad's.. I would rather be head of the Asylum than clean people's houses, in any case.. _Namika slid open her closet door and rummaged through her wide selection of clothes, finally settling on a Gucci-made pair of dark green trousers and a cardigan sweater on a lighter tone of green. _Then there's my mom.. Funny how she's twenty-three years younger than my father, and how they have absolutely nothing in common.. And how she's never had a job.. If I didn't know better I'd call her a gold-digger, but what do I know.. I'm 'only a child', _she thought to herself, and immitated an adult on the last line. Namika and her mother didn't get along very well, due to the fact that she had misformed her mother's perfect figure. She eyed herself in the mirror, french-braided her raven black hair, and plopped herself at her desk, studying Math for herself.

_920 minus 839.. Cross out the 92, make it a 91.. Carry the 1 to the 0.. 10 minus 9 is 1, cross out the 9, make it an 8.. 11 minus 3 is 8. The answer is 81, _Namika thought this all out very rapidly in her mind. _All right.. So subtraction is a little easy.. Let's go a little more advanced,_ she thought as she pulled out the book she had hidden, _Confessions of One's Inner Energy._ She had abducted it the single day last Summer in which her mother had taken her out shopping.

She then unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a Ying-Yang candle, which followed an incantation which escaped Namika's lips; _"As within the heart, so within these walls, peace and harmony preside, on the inside." _Namika cupped her hands over the candle's wick, flame bursting from it's tip. She smiled at her success and finished, _"I invoke the spirit of harmony, to release from the essence of these herbs. The power to protect.." _She wondered to herself if others could do what she could.. _Of course they can, _she snapped at herself inwardly, _ It's merely for the fact that my parents refuse me to interact with others.. I bet it's because _they_ can't do what I can, and they want to use my gift for themselves..._ She then reasoned with herself, _Perhaps they can do it to, but they hide it from one another.._

_Enough of this crap, I'm hungry,_ as she noticed that the clock had just struck 6.

The dining room was placed in a room on the second floor beside the home theater, the floor was wooden, but it was framed with carpet from each corner of the wall to the other. There was a red couch made of leather that was so dark that it could easily have been mistaken for black, it was in the corner of the room behind an ash-wooden table and the mini-bar. Four pillars **framed** the curly maple, square dining table which had six chairs seated all around around it; two on the wider sides and one on each end. One cupboard made of sandalwood stood slanted at the edge of one of the pillars, full with rare and valuable pieces of China, which could be viewed behind the glass doors, and a set of Phoenix Tail drawers stood **slanted** by another one of the pillars, the containings of the drawers remained a secret for the drawers remained locked.

Namika was late to dinner that night, yet the Grove family ate dinner peacefully, their French chef had fried Blue foot chicken, crayfish fricassee, wild mushroom, and asparagus. As an appetizer he had brewed frog legs, delicate veloute', and parsley coulis. Namika forced down the meal, and attempted to save space for dessert, which were Peach tarts, verbena custard, and red currant sorbets that evening.

Namika's father was an aging man of 50, but his hair had yet to fall out or gray, although he was wrinkled at the corners of his forest-green eyes. He had The Topic unfolded and tucked inbetween each thumb and index finger. His eyes, which were deciphering the newspaper in front of him, were glossy behind his horn-rimmed glasses. His upper lip twitched as he read, as it jerked his thin moustache brushed his pointed nose.

As apposed to Namika's mother, who was 27 year old and frail. Everything about her was feminine, from her layered, caramel hair, to her manicured nails, to her Chanel clothes. The only piece of her that was less than girly were her eyes, which were always packed with make-up, but which had a haunted look to them.

The dinner was digested silently, no one spoke a word. This wasn't unusual for the family. The parents tended to sign Namika up for various classes, let her sleep in the castle-like mansion, eat the three main courses with her parents, and that's about where the connections of the mother, daughter, and father end. Besides the fact that the guardians have quite a few Happy Hours every night.

"So, Namika.. How have your lessons been going?" Stan Grove, Namika's father, made an attempt at conversation, twisting the tail end of his moustache.

An almost surprised look shone briefly on Namika's face. "Fine..," she replied without feeling. Besides Tae Kwon Do and piano, Namika also took English, Math, French, History, Violin, and Ballet. "May I be excused?" she proposed, but pushed back her chair and left without awaiting an answer. Her mother looked as if she were to protest, but thought twice of it as a glass of Chardonnay was put in front of her.

She sauntered towards her room, pausing outside the door a few moments by instinct, pressing her right ear against the keyhole in the door to make sure there was no one awaiting her entrance inside. Following that movement, she pushed open the door, swung it back shut, and clicked the lock in place.

She then changed into her silk pajamas, which were blue, navy, and aqua plaid, and set herself cross-legged on her bed. She clapped twice, the sound switching off the lights, and tucked herself into bed, knowing she would be woken early in the morning by her alarm clock to attend her English lesson.

Namika's profile was serene, but behind the surface would the tranquility slowly fade to hysteria.

_"Nami!" The voice belonged to an eleven year-old boy, one with fair hair and hazel eyes, his lashes caked with frost. He stood about four or five inches taller than Namika, who was currently four foot six. _

_Namika turned around with a grin, her grin immediately vanishing as she received a fistful of snow flat on her head. "You said time out!" She accused him, but beaming all the same. She tossed her hair playfully, and shoved him, then sprung away to hide behind a tree, gathering snow in her mitten. _

_Namika whirled around when she heard a shriek of laughter, and the boy chucked another one at her when she wasn't looking. The bellows were followed by a pair of feet being chased by a heavier pair in the slosh. A brunette girl at the same height as Namika ran out from the direction of the gazebo, chased by her Alaskan Malamute._

_"Alyson, me and you against Blake!" Namika called to her, pounding more snow into her fist. Alyson spotted Namika and rushed under the tree which Namika was standing, they bent their heads down and hastily whispered to eachother, came upon a conclusion, then darted out from under the tree. The girls both approached Blake from either side, and cast a snowball at him, covering every inch of his jacket. Blake turned and made it as if he was going to attack, but then showered both girls with tickles. Namika and Alyson shrieked again and sprung away from Blake, their shrieks of laughter slowly turned to screams of horror as the trees began the bleed, the chalky snow led to gore, and Alyson and Blake were both slashed open by an unseen blade._


End file.
